Saving Grace
by jellybabyneedsjelly
Summary: When Ana winds up in a barren wasteland, she meets and begins falling for someone she didn't expect in about a thousand years. I'm a lot better at writing than summaries, I promise.
1. Chapter 1

**'Sup! Jellybaby here. So, this is my first ever story on this website, and I'm still trying to get the formatting figured out so just bear with me. If it's really messed up I'll fix it as soon as possible. I own only my OC, don't sue me. You'd only get a crappy laptop. Read and tell me what you think! Flames not appreciated. If it sucks, please tell me why.**

This is bad. I mean, really, _really_ bad.

I'm beyond lost now. All I did was look down at my phone for a minute; now the grey city around me has dissolved into a bleak wasteland under a cloudy sky.

Nothing I've tried has done anything. I mean, I've called for help, even tried pinching and slapping to wake myself up. (Who knows, maybe I fell in a pothole or something and I'm lying unconscious.) Banging my head against the ground hasn't helped either; it's actually made the situation surprisingly worse.

Defeated, I flop down on the floor with a noise reminiscent of a bull elephant seal stepping on a sea urchin. I dump out my small satchel and make an inventory of what I've got: A phone, a solar charger (thank heaven for that), a tube of chapstick, a few dollar bills, a rumpled Kleenex, my earbuds, and half a squashed stick of gum.

You'd think I'd put more in my bags. I'm kind of dumb that way.

Pacing back and forth between two boulders each about the size of my head, I survey my options. Given that this is probably a cruel prank, I can play along, make myself shelter for the night, or I can stubbornly refuse to do anything. I rub my hand across my aching forehead is disgust.

Discovering a small trickle of blood, I use my phone as a mirror to check the damage and almost drop it in surprise. Looking back at me is a young woman with hair and eyes the color of solid gold.

Huh... I mean, my eyes were a kind of amber, and my hair was a kind of golden blonde, but not this extreme. This is almost creepy. How would someone do that? Or maybe they just hacked my phone camera or something.

I stuff everything back into the bag and sling it over my shoulder. It's hot here, wherever "here" is, but it starts to cool down a little and the skies darken. I curl into a frustrated little ball and fall into an uneasy sleep.

 _Large bright figures surround me. I can't see their faces; but strange lilting voices run through my head as if I'm not actually hearing them with my ears, but a kind of deeper hearing, like with my mind._

 _'She awakens.'_

 _I sit up groggily. "Is this a dream?"_

 _'Hush, child,' says the figure on my right. 'You have been brought here for a purpose, one which only you can fulfill.'_

 _I make confused gerbil noises. Strange sounds that strike me as amusement flow through my head._

 _'You are descended directly from the Maia Melian, through your ancestor Elured. Due to your ancestry, you have been chosen to be a vessel for power.'_

 _"Power?" I'm finally able to move past the confused gerbil noises._

 _'Surely you feel it, a slight tingling, the feeling that something is different. This power is not for you to use until the opportune time.'_

 _I feel something pulling me, dragging me as if upwards. "What's that?"_

 _'You are awakening. I apologize for what will follow. Truly. But the fate of a soul hangs in the balance.'_

 _Hmmwhat now?_

Something pulls my brain back to reality, and I stir groggily from my curled-up spot on the ground. A rock digs into my back and honestly, I feel more tired than before. A strange scuttling noise draws my attention, and I shrink backwards into a large boulder.

A particularly ugly... creature... shuffles towards me, then turns and barks something over its shoulder in a harsh-sounding language. I shy away, but it comes closer, grabbing my arm. It looks a lot like an Orc.

 _Orcs aren't real,_ My brain reminds me. _I know that,_ I tell it, attempting to rip my arm out of the creature's grasp. I'm pretty sure this is an elaborate prank, but why would they target _me?_ What did _I_ do?

Even more of the creatures come over. One grabs my shoulder in one hand, yanking out a knife with the other. If this is a prank they won't really hurt me, but the knife looks awfully real. A little glimmer of doubt starts to boil up in my stomach.

The Orc (I don't know what else to call it so I'm just going to call it an Orc) brings the point of the knife to the skin on my forearm and cuts it open. I shriek and try to rip it away, tears running down my face more in shock and confusion as he cuts the symbol of an eye in my skin, rapidly turning red and running down my fingers. It throbs and burns and I don't remember something hurting this much since I was little and got my bare foot stuck in my bicycle gears. It bled kind of like this.

The thing lets go of my arm and I manage to catch one of them in the face with my elbow before they corner me again. One ties a piece of dirty cloth around the cut to stop the bleeding and my arms are bound behind me. To make matters worse, they gag me with a piece of gross cloth after I continue to shout obscenities at them. Fear makes my mouth run, and this is fear at its greatest.

A tiny little part of me still hopes this is still a prank and I cling to it like a lifeline. But after we've been walking for a while, we suddenly come to a tower. At the top is a giant flaming Eye, which swivels to look at me. I feel it see straight through me, almost searching my thoughts- and that one little scrap of hope turns tail and runs for its life. But if these are orcs, then that's... Sauron. Which would mean I somehow wound up in Middle-earth. Where Melian and Elured come from. My heart slides into my stomach and decides to just chill out there for quite some time.

 **So, there you have it. What do you think? I'm not going to ditch this even if no one reads it, since it is my brainchild and right now I am picking favorites with my brainchildren. (I am a horrible brainparent, I know.) Please review! I love them so much I can't even express how happy reviews make me feel! Also I love making my stuff so that other people love it too, because isn't that the point of writing?**


	2. Chapter 2

**'Sup! Jellybaby is back. Again. I got really excited because I got a review so I wrote another chapter in one sitting (here it is).**

 **DorkKnight16- Thanks! I tend to get over excited about little things like reviews and I'm so glad you think it has potential! I actually have the library copy of The Silmarillion sitting next to me because my old one recently bit the dust and I'm looking for a new one.**

 **So, to clear things up, it's a SauronxOC. (I figured out how to set pairings in the story settings.) It's based off the fact that in the books, Sauron DID in fact have physical form during the War of the Ring, as many of you probably know. It does say that he could only be in the form of something foul and ugly though, so I'm disregarding that bit. I'm basing his appearance off of Silmarillion fanart by Phobs (love their artwork, hate their ship though). However, it will probably be a while before we get to any actual romance. I'm currently searching for a cover image, but if someone wants to make one for me after they've read a few more chapters that's absolutely fine with me.**

 **So, yup. I only own my OC- the rest is property of Mr. Tolkien and Mr. Jackson, so don't sue me. All you'd get is a crappy laptop and about a million pairs of socks (I have a slight obsession).**

 **Update: I made the transition scene onto Barad-dur a little more realistic.**

I must have been knocked unconscious, because everything is black and my head is pounding miserably. My wrists ache like hell and I can feel the tautness on the cut in my arm as it struggles to heal, the slow trickle of blood down to my elbow maddening. I shake my head slightly to get my hair out of my eyes.

Opening them, I can see dim black walls lit by a lone flickering torch. By the torch stands a tall figure, a cloak drawn over its face. It walks up to me.

I feel cold metal under my chin and I feel my head being forced upward by a hand, sharp metal nail clamps almost cutting into my skin.

"Who are you?" His voice sounds, melodic, soothing. I want him to talk more. Shaking off the very slight drowsy feeling, I reply intelligently with,

"Uhhh..."

"Surely you have a name, child."

"Umm, it's Analee."

"Analee then. How did you come to be in my lands so... suddenly?" The voice croons gently, as if speaking to a child. It makes me want to trust the hooded figure. I try to shake it off.

"I... I don't know. I just sort of.. Appeared, if it makes any sense. It doesn't to me. Who are you?"

Looking up, I catch the soft glow of eyes. "I shall ask the questions, child. Who sent you?"

"I- I don't know."

I feel something sharp press against my cheek, slide down it. Again I feel the horrible sensation of separating flesh, although only a fraction of what the orc did to my arm. "Surely you know who it is sent you."

I try my hardest to ignore the softly glowing eyes and the blood trickling down my elbow and face. "Well, they were bright. Very bright. And they talked in my head."

The eyes flare, almost in anger.

"Are you going to kill me?" This time it's an honest question.

"Not yet. I simply wanted a word with you alone, without those bumbling cretins getting in the way. Something about you is.. Different."

"They said I was a vessel."

He runs his hand down the length of my arm. His skin is hot, almost searingly so, but I manage not to flinch away. Strange streaks of light spread out across my skin, forming words in some other tongue... I've seen it before. Then it hits me- it's the same writing on the One Ring.

"You are Sauron," I manage to choke out, catching the glimmer of a smirk from beneath the black hood.

Well crap.

I spend the night in a sort of holding cell, sitting miserably on a stone bench. I'm miles from home, trapped in the gutters of Barad-dur. In freaking Middle-earth. I try it again.

I'm in Middle-earth. It still doesn't click, it's kind of like a dream.

I'm in Middle-earth. Nope.

I'm in Middle-earth. Still nothing.

Then it hits me like a ton of bricks to the solar plexus, pounding it into my head. I'm in freaking Middle-earth. A strangled, gasping scream makes its way out of my lips and I hit the floor hard, hugging myself and sobbing.

 **So, there you have it- the second chapter! I'm very fueled by caffeine right now, and I'm trying my hardest to make the dialogue seem smooth. It's kind of a huge fear of mine that it's going to screw up completely. I might start putting in short segments from 3** **rd** **person in a few chapters, but it depends on how quickly the relationship dynamic between Sauron and Analee moves. By the way, the title comes from the fact that Analee loosely means "grace." So, yup. Please, review. I do love reviews so.**

 **Thank you to all of the people out there in Internet-land who took their time to read this. (I will be updating this probably super frequently, as I've had it all laid out in my head for almost months now and am now sitting down to write it and it's just flowing out.) Bye.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Haloooo! I'm really on fire today. This is the second chapter I've written within 8 hours... I've got to get it all out or my emotions might explode everywhere. Not pretty.**

 **DorkNight16- Thanks! The narrating style is just how my brain flows. I started practicing narrating my life like that in 6** **th** **grade and have been doing it ever since.**

 **Lmde- LOL. I once had a dream I was interrogated by King Thranduil. (I don't even know what for.)**

 **I'm so glad at least two people like this story. That's enough to keep me writing. Actually, one is.**

 **Unless I happen across an** _ **incredibly**_ **large sum of money within the next few hours, nothing belongs to me but my OC.**

I lay spread-eagle on the floor of the cell, staring dismally up at the ceiling. So, out of all the places in Middle-earth ( _Middle-earth!)_ I could land, it just _had_ to be Mordor. Or at least next to Mordor, I think. I'm not sure if the Black Gate is actually the edge of Mordor or just, like, a gate that's there. If I were home, I could consult my Tolkien books. Maybe when I get home- _if_ I get home, as my brain stubbornly reminds me- I'll check it out. It doesn't occur to me until about a minute later that I could just ask someone. Still, I'm kind of too afraid to ask. I'm surprised I'm not dead in a ditch.

My phone still has most of its power, which comforts me. I play my Fall Out Boy soundtrack over and over through my earbuds as loud as I can until my head rings. It distracts me. I'm kind of surprised that the orcs didn't take my bag. (At least I'll always have that squashed stick of gum.)

After I discover that no one is paying the slightest bit of attention to me, I sing out the lyrics. They comfort me. Just as I'm in the middle of singing about Uma Thurman, however, I notice that an orc is banging against the cell bars.

"Lord Sauron sends for you," he says, opening the door and motioning for me to follow. I peel myself off of the floor and drag my fingers through my hair so as to make it look less like an animal got into a fight with it. I'm seriously hoping I don't smell. Now that I think about it, I probably do.

I follow said orc through many twisting passageways and up so many flights of stairs I'm bent over, gasping for breath by the time we reach our destination. We probably went from the basement to the attic, by my reckoning.

"Get up." The smooth masculine voice I heard the other night cuts through my thoughts. I sit up automatically, wanting to do everything that the lovely voice tells me to but not quite forgetting last night's experience.

"I wish to know more about you," he says is the same melodic voice. It flows over me like honey, makes me want to relax. I tell myself to snap out of it stay on guard.

Are you going to hurt me?" I ask. "Because if so I'd like to get all my panicking done now so it doesn't stay inside because that's the best way to damage your heart is by holding in all of your stress and I don't want to, like, explode or something because I'd prefer to be healthy but-"

"Silence."

I shut up.

"Now, tell me how you received this... power of yours," he asks finally.

"Uhh, well, I was walking along and I guess it sort of just... showed up. I really don't know. I mean, it feels sort of different, but I don't really remember the exact moment, I mean I looked down and then I was here, and the shapes said something about me being related to some guy named Elured, and then I just sort of-"

"Do you even draw breath?"

"I can't help it, I babble when I'm nervous. The other thing I do when I'm nervous is clam up, though, so sometimes it's hard to tell which is which when-"

I notice the slightly dangerous glint in Sauron's eye and shut myself up.

"You are right to be nervous, though I will not harm you," he says.

"...Why?" I have to ask. I can't leave things unasked.

"You said that you had been made a vessel. I feel power running through you. I do not know what will happen to that power if you are killed, therefore you are to remain alive until further notice."

"'Until further notice.' Believe me, I feel very safe." I snort.

His hand presses my shoulder up against the wall. Suddenly all of the old fear returns, I'm going to wind up dead, I'll never see the light of day again. He brings his face close to mine.

"I did say 'alive.' I did not specify 'entirely unharmed.' You will treat me with respect." He releases me.

I make a little strangled noise, like I'm trying to force a word out of my throat and it's putting up resistance.

Sauron looks at me dangerously. "Would you care to repeat that?"

"Umm... I was just... Umm.. I don't really... know how... that well, so yeah..." I trail off weakly.

"Surely you had someone at home you respected- parents, perhaps?"

"Umm, well, things aren't really... that great with my parents. I mean, I suppose they did okay, but they always fought all the time and it was always, 'Look at how good a job your brother did.' Or 'You should try to be more like your sister, Analee.' They never really, I guess, liked me, or paid attention to me, for that matter. I had to fake-announce I was pregnant at dinner to get thirty seconds of speaking time so I could explain how the new TV worked, because I know they would come crawling back to me for help." Sauron smirks lightly at that story. "Of course, then, I wasn't allowed outside after, like, seven without an adult so... didn't really work in my favor."

"I see."

We continue to walk a little ways until we come to a door.

"You'll sleep in here," he tells me. I poke my head inside and see a small room with a bed and a bathroom off the side. (I'm kind of surprised they have bathrooms here. Then again, my history book says that toilets were invented about 7,000 years ago. Huh.) I turn around to say thank you, but Sauron is gone; I could kind of tell, though, now that I think about it. I get this sense of foreboding if he's standing behind me.

Flopping down on the bed in my clothes, my body suddenly realizes it hasn't slept in 18 hours and I curl up, sinking into a coma.

When I wake up, it's dark. The lamp sitting on the small table next to the bed has gone out, and the ethereal blue moonlight seeping through the thick cloud layer bounces off of my walls creepily. I can't sleep any longer so I kick off of my covers and stretch, straightening the twisted seams on my black skinny jeans. (I hate it when they get all crooked after they've been slept in, although no one in their right mind but me right now would sleep in skinny jeans.)

I decide to venture out into the hallway. The torches mounted on the walls sputter and make the shadows dance eerily on the walls. Slinking along close to the wall, I suddenly realize I'm being silently followed.

I spin around to find a single orc less than a yard behind me. Summoning all of my knowledge of martial arts (this consists mostly of watching action movies and two months of classes at a dojo), I roundhouse kick him firmly in the stomach, more on a jolt of adrenaline than actual brain processing. He spits words in a harsh tongue at me, drawing a knife.

Okay, knife I was not expecting. I should have, probably, but I didn't. I flinch backwards, one of my feet kicking out at his face, back into my bedroom as he stabs, missing me barely. I try to slam the door shut in his face with my feet but the orc breaks it open, stabbing again, down into the soft part of my side. I make a strangled squeaking noise and flop onto the ground, covering my head with my hands.

Suddenly the weight is lifted off of me and I hear words spoken in the same tongue, but in a familiar voice. I realize it's Sauron, gripping the orc tightly by the shoulders. My vision blurs and I watch in horror as he sinks his black metal nail clamps into the orc's neck. _Funny,_ I think drowsily. _There's only four fingers on his right hand._ Then everything goes black.

 **Okaaay. So. Hello again, everyone. I'm still working on story flow so if there's something that seems to flow awkwardly, please point it out and I'll fix it. Sorry I left with a bit of a cliffhanger... I'm trying to keep my chapters at sort of about this length... So, yep. Review please, and even if you don't thanks for reading this far. Bye now.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello again! I seem to be updating quite more frequently than I imagined myself. So, yep. The story continues.**

 **Momoiro and Guest: Thanks!**

 **CodenameAgentC: I'm actually glad you said that. I was a little concerned about the Sue aspect of things, but I figured that if I didn't make her at least in some way** _ **special**_ **Sauron would have no reason not to just kill her. (Which means no story.) I'm trying to make up for it personality-wise, and she's actually a lot like me (can have deep thoughts but sometimes babbles about random nonsense). I tried to not give her the typical Sue backstory, so instead I went with strife between parents and exaggerated youngest-sibling tendencies. I am not, myself, a youngest sibling, but I have several close friends who are so I'm using a couple of their experiences in here. (Wow, that went way long. Sorry.)**

 **I own, like, literally nothing but a laptop and socks and my OC. So don't sue me.**

When I wake up, there's weird green and magenta lights dancing on the backs of my eyelids. I'm lying in a large soft bed with thick covers pulled

Then I remember. My hand goes out to touch my side and my fingers are met by thick cloth bandages and a little burst of pain across the left side of my body. I draw in a little quick breath through my teeth.

"Don't touch your side." I hear Sauron's melodic voice cut through the air.

"...I wasn't."

I look over and he shakes his head slightly from where he's sitting at a large desk about 5 feet from the bed, cleaning bits of I-don't-even-want-to-know-what from one of his removed nail clamps. The rest are sitting ominously on a dark-colored towel.

"It's dead, isn't it?" I say softly.

"Yes. There's no need to fear."

"No, it's not that. You didn't need to _kill_ him."

" _It_ sought to harm you," he replies, stressing the 'it.' "I will not allow that until I figure out what is inside of you."

At first I'm shocked that he can act so coolly towards killing, but then I remember that he is, in fact, the Dark Lord. Almost, _almost,_ something in me had started to think of him as a protector of sorts. Now that I see this, I squish down that feeling as hard as I can. He's evil. Not good. Evil. But something in my brain just doesn't want to think so.

Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, "You only have nine fingers."

He glances upwards at me with the same expression he gave me when I was babbling, only multiplied by about 482,934,234,235,345 times. (Roughly.) "Most do not dare to speak of it," He says, venom in his voice. My brain immediately senses this as one of those (thankfully rather rare) moments when my mouth has put me in serious danger and ceases all functioning of my vocal cords.

Then I remember. The Battle of Dagorlad, when Isildur cut the Ring from Sauron's hand. And Gollum's comment about "how there are only four fingers on the Black Hand." My face also remembers and I screw it up in embarrassment.

I look up. "I kind of... forgot. Sorry."

He goes back to silently cleaning untold nastiness out of the sharp edges of his nail clamps, but I can tell he's still mad by the tense way he holds his shoulders.

I study his hands. They're calloused, but slender. The skin is a charred black-color, like it's been stained with soot. (The Black Hand is literally black. That's awesome.) The right hand doesn't even have a finger-stump or anything on it; it's just smooth like the fifth finger was never there. Weird. He curses under his breath as the sharp edge of the clamp nicks his actual fingernail.

Finally I can't stand it anymore, even though I know like I'm acting like a child half my age. "Can I get up?" I ask.

"No."

"Please?"

"Adding the word 'please' will not sway my decision in the slightest."

"Well, sometimes it works on my parents," I continue. "I just keep repeating 'please' until they look so frustrated they crack and say 'okay.' Of course, my perfect siblings never did that."

"Sometimes I can see why they wished you to be like your siblings," Sauron replies.

I snort. "Well, we did get along sometimes. We had this game that we would play on really long road trips. We called it 'Repeat the Word.' One of us would say some random word, then another would repeat it, then the third would repeat it again, then the first would repeat it again, and whoever said the word last before Dad screamed curses at us would win. It was fun."

Sauron snorts quietly.

"But that actually didn't happen that often. Usually we just fought a lot. I think pretty much the worst threat I could dish out was I'll Lick Your Fork, because it was usually my job to put the silverware on the table and if I was mad at one of them I would lick their fork before they sat down. But my sister did the laundry so she kind of had an upper hand with those kinds of things." I stop, smiling slightly at the memory. "I moved out last because everything my parents did fell on me and I had to do all the chores and stuff but now I have to pay my own bills and stuff and even though I do school online I still have to, like, go outside and socially interact with other people. It's horrible."

I realize Sauron's no longer cleaning out his nail clamps of doom. Instead, he's watching me, expressionless, his fingertips gently touching and resting on the table. He no longer looks angry.

"Is there any particular reason you're watching me?"

"You entertain me. Do continue."

"Well, now that you said so, my mind's gone blank," I reply, staring thoughtfully up at the ceiling. "Hmm." I tend to use 'hmm' as one of those awkward conversational fillers around old relatives at Thanksgiving and friends' friends. (Those types of situations can be frightfully awkward.)

"Can I at least take a bath? Please? My hair's all nasty and greasy."

"...I suppose."

I gingerly slide my feet out of the bed and the coldness of the floor seeps through my socks. The huge black gown bags around me and clings to my stomach awkwardly as I follow him, pain shooting up my side with each step and desperately trying not to let it show.

I strip and take an extremely soothing bath it hot water, The water stings the gash in my side, and I feel the scab start to come off.

In the meantime, I braid up my damp golden hair so it stays off of my back. The wound in my side stings with each movement, and blood starts to trickle out of it, so I wrap it back up with material.

Laying on the counter is a heavy black gown. I somehow manage to get it on myself without assistance, and stand admiring myself in my propped-up phone. (I wish they had more mirrors here.)

It's long, and draping, almost solid black with a low neckline, kind of like Arwen's dress from Lord of the Rings. It pulls tight around my waist, making me feel thankful I do toning exercises, and cascades off of my hips down to brush the floor in the back. The sleeves, too, are long, the backs extending past my fingertips a good six inches. Silver peeks out from the corners of the trim.

I emerge to an empty room. Not entirely sure what I'm supposed to do, I look through the bookshelf. Most of the titles are in what I take to be Black Speech, but I find one in... what do they call it here... ah, yes, Common Tongue. Cracking it open, I curl up in the corner.

My mind wanders. I'm kind of surprised that the Lord of Mordor is being kind to me. Well, sort of kind. There's a hardness underneath his courtesy, like he shuts everything out. He probably does. But I can't help and remember how he listened while I talked about my family. He had had that look on his face, the one people get when they're subtly interested. That kind of scares me. Well, _he_ just kind of scares me in general- the way he stands, the way the orcs behave around him. He doesn't have to display power, he just kind of... _radiates_ it.

I can't figure it out. I clutch the heavy book to me, remembering how my grandfather used to read to me when I was little. He had a huge library, full of old books, and we'd sit and read for hours. He was the one who first read The Hobbit to me, back when I was in second grade. Most of it went over my head, but I was still fascinated by it.

A sudden shard of homesickness hits me. I don't know how I'll get back. If I'll even get back. I even miss my parents, even though they fought a lot. Memories of the few fun things we did as a family come back to me, hard and fast, like the time we went camping and my sister and I heard a raccoon so all five of us spent the night squashed in a tiny two-person tent. Tears sting my eyes and threaten to spill off of my eyelashes. I sniff and drag the back of my hand over my face.

 **So. This kind of felt like an awkward filler chapter, sorry. I was sick all day yesterday and was kind of caught in that weird sort of dreaming state where you can't tell reality from dream... I hate that. So anyway, that's my excuse. Bye now.**

 **UPDATE: Not that y'all care that much, but I changed what her dress looks like. I care though. I've always wanted a dress that looks like that. Sorry it leaked into the writing. :D (sorry, not sorry)**

 **Please review. I do love reviews so.**


	5. Chapter 5

**So! Everything is all straightened out and the story is set how I want it (it's really not that different, but it's how I want it). So humongous thanks to everybody who's still sticking with me- the rest of the story will proceed as planned. I just wanted to catch it while I could, before it gets to like 20 chapters or whatever. (I plan to stick with it to the end- no idea how long it will get.)**

 **Now that there are no more complications, shoutout to everybody who reviewed and gave their opinions and encouraged me. If there's something that needs improvement, please do not hesitate to tell me. (I promise I won't go through and rewrite it again.) :D I'm trying really hard not to make it one of those "Mary Sue goes to Mordor and changes Sauron back to good" things, but at the same time it's a redemption story, so I'm trying to balance things out and not move them too quickly. A tiny bit of what might be remotely considered almost-fluff in this chapter. (Progress!)**

 **I own nothing that you recognize, only my OC.**

I can't sleep. The small room I was given has been repaired and, erm, _cleaned out,_ so I curl up on the small bed, clutching my knees to my chest. I keep having nightmares about the incident, only it's a different face each time. The final straw is when it's the face of my childhood tormentor, Carson, and I wake up with a little scream. (He used to give me swirlies in the boys' bathroom. No lie.)

I lean against the side of the bed, sitting on the floor. Spreading a piece of parchment on the floor, I do what I usually do when I feel stressed- draw.

The charcoal scratches across the paper, and relaxes me. I draw a dragon. I don't even care if it's a good dragon anymore because at least it's a dragon.

The next week I'm summoned again and Sauron talks to me for a long time. I find myself explaining some of the things we have here, like cars and electricity, his eyes watching in almost creepy fascination as he writes down everything I say. It's amazing- I find myself disclosing secrets even I didn't know I had, telling childhood stories, memories that make me happy. His voice does that somehow. Perhaps that's how he conquered Numenor- worked his way in with his voice, soothing his way to the king. The thought scares me, and I go quiet.

"Continue."

"I don't know, that's kind of it. I didn't have a super interesting childhood."

"Yes, well perhaps-" Suddenly he stops talking, his irises and pupils disappearing completely into a golden glow. He freezes for a moment, then turns his head, as though looking through another's eyes.

Completely unnerved by the display, I draw my feet up onto the bed I've been sitting on as he wrote stuff down. When it goes away I ask, "What was that?"

"The Eye has spotted something. Come," he says, standing and motioning for me to follow as soon as his eyes have returned to normal.. I trot alongside him, trying hard to keep up. The pain in my side is nearly gone now, but an ache remains when I walk.

His dusty black robes branded with the Red Eye flutter slightly as we climb a set of stairs to what looks like the highest room in the tower. Several orcs stand there, looking slightly more important than the rest of their smelly brethren.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Strategic... things," Sauron replies, slightly distracted. He gives orders to several of the orcs in Black Speech and they trot off quickly, leaving only a few orcs in the room with us. He places his hands on a flame-colored sphere set halfway into a podium I the middle of the room, his eyes going all orange-colored again.

"What kind of things?"

I get no reply.

I'm once again in Sauron's chambers, nearly a week after the incident with the weird eyes. I still haven't psyched myself up enough to ask him about it, but I'm determined to, especially since it happened again yesterday morning.

In a sudden burst of courage, I manage to say, "What happened to your eyes?"

He looks up at me. "You mean yesterday?"

"Yeah."

"I see through the Eye, and it connects with me whenever it catches a glimpse of... something I have been searching for."

Oh, right. The Ring.

"Oh."

I speak again. "You know, you're not at all like what I thought you'd be like."

"Oh?" He replies. "And what exactly _did_ you think I'd be like?"

"Well, not so... Courteous. I guess just nasty and stuff, I dunno..." I trail off.

"And who gave you that impression?"

"Your enemies," I say. I guess it makes sense.

"They never really stop to consider the possibility that maybe, I'm trying to make this world a better place. Less messy." He sighs almost inaudibly.

I grow quiet again, alternating between staring at the ceiling and catching glimpses of a battle plan over Sauron's shoulder. I like to study him; when he's concentrated on something, he seems as if he is almost safe.

Everything on the desk is laid out in perfect order. There's a spot for everything- including a goblet of wine perched nearly on the edge. He offered me wine once, but since it's only been legal for me to drink for about three months, I politely declined. I'm terrified of getting enebriated and shooting off my mouth with some important detail, even though Sauron doesn't actually know that I can sort of see the future. (I suppose, in a sense, that that's a way of putting it.)

I decide to take a leap. "Do you have any, you know, family? Maybe?" I ask very very sheepishly.

Sauron glances up at me almost in surprise. "Maiar do not have families."

"Oh."

He goes back to sketching a battle plan. "Did you have any friends?" I ask very softly.

Something flickers through his eyes briefly and he stiffens. It looks to me as regret, or perhaps even possibly sadness. "Once."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't've, umm, I'm sorry..."

"Do not speak of it," he replies, an edge of hardness back in his voice like the day I first met him while I was chained to a wall. It's then that I notice it's been slowly creeping away, all this time, so gradually I didn't notice a difference.

I realize how lonely he must be, and for a moment my heart feels a shard of pity- he's been alone, for thousands of years. But then images of all the lives he's taken, of Elendil's terrified face as Sauron strikes him in the beginning of the Fellowship of the Ring, and it's gone.

It hits me, suddenly, that everything that happens in those movies was, or is, real. All those lives, those were real people who lived and died. A lone tear makes its way down my face, and I struggle to wipe it away inconspicuously.

"Is something the matter, Ana?" Sauron asks, but in that tone a person uses when they ask something out of courtesy, not care.

"I'm fine," I mutter, slipping out of my chair and heading down the hall to my own bedroom.

#####

Sauron watches her go, gold hair glinting in the flickering lamplight, a tear running down her face. Something in him sees her differently- a refreshing kind of different. Perhaps it is the way she converses with him without fear, or very nearly; he has been lacking in simple conversation for some time.

He does not love her, not by a long shot, but something about her childlike innocence in speaking to him makes him hate her slightly less than before. Granted, there are still many things about her he does not like. The way she will continue voicing a thought, even after it has lost all relevance, confusing the direction of a conversation. Or the way she nervously picks at her hands when she consciously makes eye contact.

She did have many flaws.

#####

I sit on the edge of my bed, running a comb through my hair. Twisting the mid-back-length mop into a plait, I check my reflection in my phone. That's all it's good for anymore. There's no power source since my solar charger can't charge through the cloudy haze.

I flop backwards onto the bed, pulling the crimson covers up over my head. Curling my bare legs to my chest, I think of what my mother would say if she saw me now. No doubt she'd scold me for intruding in somebody's personal life, though I think that secretly she'd be proud that I cared.

The thought brings a smile to my face.

I'm worried, though, about why I'm here. They said somebody's redemption. I'm still trying to figure out whose. I don't even know what to do with this weird power stuff that's supposedly in me. Ugh, I feel like a Mary Sue.

I wonder how far along the timeline we are. I know it's terrible, but I honestly hope the Ring doesn't get destroyed for a while. I'm terrified of what might happen to me if, or when, it does. In the movies it shows Barad-dur collapsing, imploding on itself. Kind of reminds me of the time an earthquake knocked down a supermarket in a town near mine, crumbled from within.

Eventually I manage to think myself to sleep, slipping softly into the realm of dreams.

 **Soooo... contemplative near the end. I'm really trying to keep this from rushing along too quickly, but at the same time I'm trying to fit in the starting of a relationship dynamic.**

 **I'm still not sure about the little snippet from 3** **rd** **person so we can see what Sauron is thinking, I'm worried it might've come off weird or not-working. Please tell me if it needs improving.**

 **Review! Please! Reviews make me write faster, and if I don't get any I may withhold the next chapter until I get some. *giggles evilly* Kidding. Possibly.**


	6. Chapter 6

**So! Jellybaby is back.o sorry I've been so long, must be nearly weeks now (if my calculations are correct, they probably aren't). I've been having wifi problems so I haven't been able to get online** _ **or**_ **write, because my files are online. (Very convenient most of the time, but a pain in the ass when it shuts down.)**

 **I'm glad to see that the little piece from Sauron's POV was well-accepted for the most part, not really sure how happy I am with it myself though. Thanks to everybody who read it and who followed/favorited this. I love you all and honestly sometimes a review or follow/favorite is the bright part of my day.**

 **I forgot to say this last chapter. I tried to fit in how Sauron could have physical form and still have a giant eye on top of his tower like in the movies, so I hope it worked OK. :)**

 **So I don't know if it helps anybody but I always imagined Sauron sounding a little bit like Benedict Cumberbatch, and that was reinforced in my mind when he did Sauron's voice in the Hobbit. :)**

 **Agent C. - I am very glad that you think so! About the tower part, I don't want to say too much about what's coming up but it's going in a direction you may not expect. I promise I'm going to give it a happy ending though. :)**

 **Valerie – Thanks!**

I examine myself in front of my phone/mirror, smoothing my hands along the deep blood-colored gown. It clings to my waist and falls in lovely folds down nearly to my toes, trailing along the ground in the back. I don't know why Sauron has so many gowns here. There's like three. (Ok, that really isn't much, but still a lot for a tower populated by a Dark Lord and a bunch of orcs.)

Thumbing through my bag, I try to see if I can find any mascara (no luck). I look closely at my face. I suppose I look okay without it, but like most women, I feel slightly insecure going makeup-less.

Sitting down on the bed, I run my finger along the scar on my arm- the one in the shape of an Eye. It seems odd to me that they would mark me so, as if I was his property. I know I'm a prisoner here, held here until I figure out what's inside of me,

About three days later, three boring days filled with tiresome reading and making terrible drawings, Sauron summons me again. Something inside of me is happy for the change, and I really need someone to talk to. I stand up and promptly catch my feet on the edge of the gown, tripping and bashing my head against the doorframe so hard I see stars. _Damn it._ Ignoring the tiny trickle of blood, I run down the hall as dignified as one can be while shuffling along in a floor-length heavy gown.

I'm halfway through my story. "So then, when we got there, it turns out my brother James left his bag behind, so we have to turn around and drive _all the way back,_ just to pick it up, because it's got important stuff in it. And then by the time we got home it was, like, almost sunrise and we were all so tired."

Sauron smiles slightly, putting on his last nail clamp. (You know, the sharp-black-metal-evil-looking ones.) I lean back against a pillow, watching him as he reorganizes his desk. I like it when he smiles. He looks less, you know, evil and intimidating. Maybe that little friend-gap got repaired. It's too much to hope for, though, I think.

"Come," he says, standing up and motioning for me to follow. I pry myself out of the chair and follow him up to the peak of the tower, where I can vaguely see the Eye through a window. I sit awkwardly to one side as he discusses battle plans with a few of his captains, and what I can see of it looks an awful like what Pelennor Fields looks like.

"So, what are you attacking?" I ask as cheerfully as I can manage on the way back. My head throbs, putting me for the most part in rather foul temper.

"That is not your concern."

"I wanna know," I mutter, rubbing my hand against the side of my temple and feeling blood.

Sauron stops and looks at me. "You are bleeding."

I glance at my fingers. "No shit, Sherlock," I snap. Of course, I immediately regret it.

Even though he probably doesn't understand the phrase fully, my tone is enough. Sauron's sharp nail clamp forces my chin up painfully so that our eyes meet. He's faintly got a weird expression- somewhere between anger, slight concern, and just plain exasperation.

"That was not respectful."

"I know." I try to put my apology in my tone. "Sorry."

He brushes aside my hair gingerly and smooths the flat of his thumb against the cut, examining it. "What happened to it?"

"Umm, I tripped and hit it on the doorframe." I'm almost emberrassed to admit it.

Sauron exhales slightly through his nose in what could have been a laugh or exasperation or both. He leans in closer to my face.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking for concussion. You appear to be all right."

Okay, I wasn't actually expecting him to care.

I find myself sitting cross-legged on Sauron's richly ornamented bed, holding a wet rag to the side of my head and watching glumly as he sits at his huge desk. He's been in a bad mood ever since hearing word of Saruman losing at the Battle of the Hornburg, or so I can glean from what small amount of information Sauron lets me have.

I lay back on the bed, sighing silently. It's actually not bad here; instead of a barbaric evil, the Dark Lord is actually turning out to be quite... civilized, even though he definitely still has that threatening sense about him. It's almost a pleasant thing to find out, especially after dealing with the orcs if only for a few hours. But then, I might be a special case.

I look down at my hand, rubbing it slightly. The funny Elvish marks only show up when Sauron touches me. I wonder why. Why am I so special? What's this "magical power" I'm supposed to have and who did the large white shapes from my dream say I was supposed to help redeem?

Also, who the _hell_ am I supposed to be descended from? Some guy named Elured, I guess.

I realize I've said that last bit out loud. Sauron speaks without glancing up. "Elured was one of Dior Eluchil's twin sons, who in turn was the son of Beren and Luthien. He was lost in the forest along with his twin brother Elurin and presumed dead." He looks at me. "Evidently that was not the case."

I make an indistinguishable _huh_ sound and close my eyes. Well okay then.

#####

Sauron glances over at Ana. She has been lying soundlessly for a while, and he sees now that she's asleep. He picks up a lock of her hair and twirls it between his fingers. The gold color reminds him of his Ring.

She sighs slightly, shifting in her sleep and for a moment he is afraid he's woken her. He studies her face, youthful still despite being full-grown for a child of Men. She clearly doesn't carry many concerns.

A strange feeling sets in his stomach, one he hasn't known for ages. A slight want to protect her, shield her, maybe, from the evils of the world, sits in him. He can do that, maybe, once he has the Ring and is in control. He wonders if perhaps she'd like to stay, if only to provide him with simple conversation.

#####

 _The bright beings gather around me again, their voices running through my head like creek water._

 _'Time runs out. You make progress, child.'_

 _"I.." I start. "Progress? With what?"_

 _'He has started to care for you, to want to protect you.'_

 _"Who..." Never mind._

 _'The turning point is coming soon, young one. We shall speak more then.'_

 _Everything shifts, no more light figures, only cold and the faint glow of the moon on the wet rocks. A dark, humanoid shape shuffles towards me, and I can see malevolence in its eyes. Its spindly hands reach out towards me, hissing "precious..."_

 _I try to jerk back but I can't, I can't move at all. I feel the creature's efforts to catch me being hindered by another being. The skinny form jerks back and shrieks in a raspy voice, charging toward me again._

I wake with a tiny scream, the memory of the long pale hands reaching towards my neck filling my mind. To my surprise, I feel a hand gently resting on my head, sending warmth running down my neck, relaxing me. I hear a smooth voice say something to me, I don't know what, and then I slip back into slumber, deeper this time.

 **So... I hope that went well. I'm still a little leery about writing from a different character's perspective, so I hope the little short segment I put in was okay... just tell me if there's something I could do better please. I feed off of constructive criticism.**

 **So, review? Please? It turns my day around sometimes to see a review pop up in my inbox.**


	7. Chapter 7

**So... I have returned. Sorry I haven't updated in a while, my mind has kind of gone blank and I've been working on some other stories I've got (so those will probably show up on this site in a couple of months). I made a longer chapter because Christmas.**

 **Also I just now noticed that autocorrect changed "Ana" to "Anna" in the description when I first wrote it- I've corrected it. Sorry. I feel dumb. :/**

 **Laura- Thanks! I do understand that it's moving kind of fast right now, but it's important to the plot. This chapter should start things to move at a more proper speed.**

 **Dorknight16- Your review very much brightened my day. Thanks! Also, I usually like surroundings to be imagined by the reader, but I'll try.**

 **Lizzie- Thanks. Yes, there will be more. I don't plan on abandoning my brainchild...**

 **I own nothing but Ana. Everything else belongs to Peter Jackson and the Tolkien Estate.**

Sitting on my bed in a cross-legged position and thanking heaven that I found a pair of pants in the wardrobe, I press my fingers to my temples in an attempt to focus. The candlelight flickers on the inside of my eyelids as I try to remember the thing from my dream, the pale grabby thing with the long fingers. I curse my reluctance to re-watch the Lord of the Rings movies on my last vacation. It would've helped truckloads.

Gollum. That's the only "pale grabby thing" I can remember after nearly twenty minutes of meditation. I haul myself out of the slight dip I've created in my mattress To go tell Sauron.

I stand in his doorway, wrapping the bottom of my long tunic around my finger. He sits at the rather impressive desk, leaned over a pile of documents. I guess being a Dark Lord isn't all killing and fighting, there's some boring stuff involved too.

"Uhm... Lord Sauron?" I call out softly. He sets down the pen and folds his hands under his chin, looking up at me with a slightly tired expression.

"Yes, Ana?"

"Do you know Gollum?"

His expression shifts slightly. "How did you hear of him?"

"Uhm, well, I saw him in like a dream I think. There was this thing with long pale fingers, and he kept reaching towards me. I think he called me Precious."

Something flickers in Sauron's eyes, like a slight wariness. He stands up, taking my arm and running his hand down it- the curved font glows down my arm again. He takes my shoulders and points me toward the door. "You may go; I have things to see to."

Well then.

I've started a diary. (Let me tell you, it's not easy like the movies make it look. Half of my pages are filled with "uhms.") It's just a small book of parchment with a little sharpened charcoal stick tied to the side. I keep it down the side of my shoe.

I decide to go for a walk. Skipping down the dark stone hallways, so far devoid of orcs, I study carvings I've just now noticed are in the wall. I think it's Black Speech- I can't read it. My fingers trace through the furrows in the walls, following them for quite a distance until they fade.

I look up. I don't recognize where I am, the torchlight flickering around me more prominent now that the daylight has faded. Noises from further down the way catch my ears and pique my interest.

Stepping lightly, I stick to the wall until I find a brighter room, where Sauron stands over a cowering older man. Curious, I peer silently around the doorframe. The room itself is very intimidating- the torchlight reflects eerily off of various metal structures and pieces scattered about the room. I don't know exactly what they do but they seem to have a sinister purpose.

The man is saying something- I don't catch much, only something about "attack" and "defeated" and "Gondor." He says a lot, though.

Sauron is speaking. "So what you mean to say is that you were defeated because the Gondorians were too strong for the Haradrim."

The man starts to object, but decides against it. "My lord, we fought to the last man."

"Evidently not." I see Sauron is holding a black broadsword, and I know what's going to happen, but I can't move. The sword swings downwards, and the man's head hits the floor with a dull thud, rolling towards me slightly.

I'm frozen, watching the blood spatter and drip off of the broadsword. Bile rises in my throat, and I hear steps coming towards me. Somehow I manage to jerk myself into motion, knowing I wasn't supposed to see that.

I'm a few steps down the hall when I feel a hand grab my golden braid of hair, stopping me short with a tiny yelp of pain. I retrace my steps so I'm in a more upright position, turning around to look into Sauron's face.

"L-Lord Sauron..." manage to squeak out. He's still got my hair.

"Ana, what are you doing here?" He says it without emotion, as if it were any ordinary thing, as if he had not just killed someone. It hindsight, killing was probably a rather normal occurrence for him, but right now it just fills me with something I don't recognize.

"You killed him." I croak. "You just- swung the-the sword and-and killed him-" My voice breaks.

"Come." His hand lets go of my hair.

"No." Probably the worst possible thing I could have said, and looking back on the incident I wince at my own stupidity.

"'No'?" He repeats back to me, an edge to his voice. "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

"Why did you kill him?!" It comes out louder now. "It wasn't even necessary! You could've let him live!"

"He was no longer of any value to me."

"HOW THE HELL DID YOU NOT SEE IT?!" I shriek at him. "HE WAS _SORRY_! HE WAS TERRIFIED!" His eyes flash, but I'm too worked up to realize how much danger I'm in. "YOU DIDN'T EVEN NEED TO!"

"YOU ARE FORGETTING YOUR PLACE, CHILD!" Sauron shouts back at me, grabbing my shoulders with his sharp nails. Now he's quieter, but no less angry. The glow of his eyes flares, like Smaug's when he shouts. "Do not think for one moment that you hold any authority here."

I scowl, trying to shove his hands off of my shoulders. His fingernails dig into them, puncturing the skin as he drags me roughly down the hall.

I land awkwardly in a cell, the jagged stone of the wall scraping my skin. Blood pools down my back and arms from the gashes across my shoulders as I curl into the corner, trying hard not to sob. Sauron stands outside the door, looking at me with something like disapproval on his face.

"I had told you to learn respect. You will stay here until you do." He leans closer to me, his tone menacing. "You are needed alive, not unharmed. Be very careful what you say."

After he walks away, I let the tears of self-pity course down my face as I mourn my situation.

#####

Sauron is angry. The mortal, barely older than a child, had stood against his authority. She has been forgetting her place more frequently, but today- today was the last straw. She needs to be taught a lesson- one that might end up being more painful than she reckoned. He does not care what happens to her- so long as she stays alive.

Somehow the girl had wormed her way in, through the walls reinforced by thoughtless killing, under his defences. He has grown weak- no more. He will not allow her to affect him.

He mentally reprimands himself for the way he had seen her the other week- when she was asleep, and he had felt oddly protective. He banishes those feelings like he has for thousands of years. Sauron, Lord of Mordor, will not be brought down.

He flips through an old tome, written in the speech he had created himself, searching for any information on the power manifesting itself in the girl in his dungeons. She had said she had seen Gollum- the skulking wretch that had borne his Ring had been held in Barad-dur for a time and interrogated. Sauron knew it would most likely try to recover its "precious" no matter what (His fingers clench. "It's" precious. Hardly.) so perhaps it was near the Ring. Perhaps if Ana could see Gollum, she could help locate the Ring.

Sauron writes down another note in the book's margin and slams it shut.

#####

You know that feeling you get when you've cried and sulked until there's nothing sad left inside, and you just feel numb. I get that. Wiping my eyes with my dusty fingertips after I'm done with my little pity party, I take into account the state of my body.

The deep cuts in my shoulders from Sauron's nail clamps are still bleeding, and send sharp toxic pains through me each time I try to move. The eye carved into my arm when I first showed up is still there, whitish gashes on my tan skin, but it seems to be as healed as it will get without medical attention. My golden hair is a couple of inches longer than it was when I first showed up here, and it's knotted and tangled and dingy.

Dragging my sore fingers through my hair, I attempt to straighten out my clothing. The leggings were ripped on the rough floor when I tumbled in and frayed holes in the shoulders of my black tunic line up with the painful gashes in my skin; altogether, it could be worse. That's what my grandfather taught me- always focus on the positive. Count your blessings.

Sitting up painfully, I lean against the rough wall. Looking back on the whole incident, my mind screams stupidity at me. I should have kept my mouth shut. I'd allowed myself to feel safe, to almost forget that I'm living in the castle of a power-hungry spirit. Because that's what Sauron is, really. I fell for his act of courtesy, kind of like the Numenorean king. No, he was evil and stuff already- well, anyways.

But a really dumb little part of me feels proud of myself, because killing needlessly is wrong. That little part is probably going to get me killed, I think.

 **So, anyways. How was it? I feel kind of OK about it, like it could have been better, but honestly this part I just kind of put off for too long because I was stuck on it. Review! Please! Thanks for reading even if you don't.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Jels is back everybody! (I like that nickname. Call me Jels.) So, I got several positive reviews and I'm sorry if I lack faith in my own writing. I'm still getting used to the fact that people aren't over-anayzing it like every single teacher I've ever had. So anyways.**

 **Agent C.- Thanks for that review. I needed that- I'm glad somebody else feels that way. It irritates me when the stories portray him as this kind of mediocre pseudo-villain, when in fact he's killed thousands and thousands of creatures. I think his pets are cool too, I my use that.**

 **Dorknight- Thanks! I'm glad you think so.**

 **So, I own only Ana. Everything else is not mine.**

I breathe the thick smoky air into my lungs, suppressing the urge to cough. I've been sitting in the same corner for days, an ache filling my bones that probably isn't natural, watching the slight condensation run down the stone walls and pretending the droplets are racing. It's mind-numbing.

So far I've re-watched the entire High School Musical series in my head, as far as I can remember them, and imagined every possible way they could torture me without killing me. It's not improving my spirits.

I want to go home. I picture my family in my mind- even though I've had some problems with them, I miss them so much. I wonder if any time has passed there- if I die here, what will happen to me there? Has my family just been wondering where I am these past two months? If I ever get back, I'm definitely fired.

My wrist burns where they've shackled me to the wall, as if I could fit through the horrible sharp bars in front of the opening, I've got no privacy in here- I might be tucked away from the main bustle, but I can still hear the clanging of what I'm assuming are smiths' hammers against swords, and grunting, and down below I hear snapping and growling like wild animals. I wonder if that's where the wargs are kept.

The dingy faint light trickling in from the six-inch-wide ventilation shaft high above me grows stronger, signaling me that it's now daytime- whatever day is like down here. I pull my tiny diary out from underneath me and make a tally mark with my charcoal stick. I've amused myself by doodling all over the pages.

I hear dull footsteps coming down the hall. A nasty-looking orc carries a bowl of some type of food. My eyes jerk open as soon as he jabs me with a lance, feeling it pierce the skin on my side. I grab at the bowl as soon as it slides under the bars, sniffing it and instantly regretting that I did so- it reeks.

My fingers pick through it, finding some type of vegetation and a few chunks of what looks like meat. I eat those, gingerly tasting what's left- some kind of gooey brownish meal. It's horrible, but seems to be edible.

I flop back against the wall, sore and completely at a loss of what's going on. I'm still hungry- I won't be fed until tomorrow, though. I find an unnaturally large earwig crawling down the side of the wall and play with it, letting it crawl across the tips of my fingers. I name it McFredrickson.

"I dunno, I miss them," I speak out loud to McFredrickson, whom has decided to stick around for a few days. "Like, family stuff wasn't good. I was always compared to my sister, like, she was really good at school and sports and all this stuff, and I was just a mistake."

I lean my head against my knee; the pounding these last couple of days has gotten almost unbearable. I'm imagining a tiny man with a drum in there, banging away 'til kingdom come. Part of me just wants him to shut the hell up; the other part is grateful for the sensation of pain. It keeps me awake and keeps me from sleeping myself to death. Sometimes I want to.

Dragging my finger along the wall to gather condensation, I suck the moisture off of my fingertip. My throat feels sticky and my tongue is swollen and rough, sticking to the roof of my mouth and generally being a pain. They don't give me water; there's a steady trickle of condensation down the corner of the wall that is apparently enough.

The dull pangs of hunger almost bore me, like being prodded with a baseball bat. My bones ache with the heat and the thick air, my lungs struggling to process it, dries my throat. All in all I feel like shit- like extreme shit, not just like when somebody has a cold. This is worse. This is probably worse than any illness I've had in my relatively sheltered short life, but it seems to be affecting me slowly; it's the dull itching loneliness that's getting to me.

I don't know how many days pass, between banging my head against my knees, playing with McFredrickson the earwig, attempting yoga, and generally rolling about the floor like a child. I roll my shirt up, and instead of my nice toned abdomen, my stomach is shrunken, my ribs poking out upsettingly.

Spots dance around my vision, silver and gold dancing off of the walls like flames. I slump against the corner, feeling ants under my skin as my body yearns to move around again, to be free. I think I've got cabin fever.

#####

Sauron rests his chin against the tips of his fingers, at last coming to a shaky conclusion about Ana. He slightly regrets throwing her in a cell; he needs her coherent enough to speak clearly. He acted quickly, unthinkingly, and in anger- it would have saved face easier than dragging her back out after a month of simmering in her own attitude.

Sighing, he stands up from his desk, sweeping aside papers of battle plans and laying out designs for an attack tower he is working on. Ana can wait for a while more.

#####

I kick my feet up against the wall, pulling them out straight and enjoying the dizzying sensation of the blood rushing to my head. McFredrickson the earwig crawls around my toes, as if investigating a crime scene. Stretching my arms out wide to look like I'm flying, I draw a deep breath.

"I miss home. I miss the way the sun shines through the clouds, instead of choking on them. I like green. There's no green stuff here. I miss green."

My grandfather had a sweater that was green. He would wear it every Christmas, and when I was little I'd sit on his lap to open my present. I remember the mint-and-tobacco smell and the itchy wooly feeling of it that I loved so much, I'd hug him all the time just to feel it- I can almost feel it now, in the dark hot damp. I'm glad I hugged him while I had the chance.

 **So, I hoped you liked this. It's kind of boring, but we should start building up again in the next chapter- this one's kind of a gapfiller. Review! Tell me what you think!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Again I return with more. I'm sorry I took so long; I've been busy with real life. (Real life is so irritating sometimes.) I'm glad people are reading this; it's special to me. I was typing this on a phone so there might be more typos; again this is just a roigh draft and I'll go back and edit and then publish the nice polished final copy. So anyways I own nothing but Ana.**

Sharp aches shoot through my body, stinging me into wakefulness. I try hard to ignore the horrid throbbing inside of my skull- my vision seems to pulse with each drumbeat- and gratefully stuff down the slop they give to me as food.

Scooping up a blob of the brown pasty substance at the bottom of the bowl (it seems to be some variant of mashed rice), I slip the neckline of my ragged tunic over my shoulder and smooth the paste over the burning cuts in my skin. It seems to help; the burning, itching sensation lessens a bit. The red spanning out in faint rays under my skin away from each gash are almost perfect examples of infection; there's no antibiotics here. I hope I don't die.

I feebly drag my fingers through my mop of once-golden hair- it's more of a nasty brown now, with thin white streaks trailing from my scalp. Honestly, I'm too tired to care. I want to go home. I want to go back to my air-conditioned, TV-ed, carpeted house. I want out of this horrid prison with its ragged walls and floor, forever digging into my skin however I choose to sit or lay.

Perking up my ears, I hear footsteps approaching. I slouch against the smoothest part of the wall I've been able to find and hold out my arm weskly, to accept the bowl of food undoubtedly being shoved under the door at me. However, when I look up, I see something completely different.

Sauron stands there, arms crossed, eyes glowing a faintly honey color, looking vaguely bored. "Stand up," he says.

I peel my aching bones off of the floor and haul myself to my feet with a good deal of effort, leaning against the wall as I do so.

He pulls open the door and I can hardly believe my luck. "Come," he orders, and starts walking away. I trot on screaming feet to keep up.

"Is there... something you need me for...?" I ask timidly, well aware that my behavior and disrespect landed me in that hellhole.

A glimmer of what looks like faint satisfaction crosses Sauron's face as his head turns to face me. I have a hard time looking at him and walking at the same time. "Yes; I've come to an unsteady conclusion about your 'vessel' situation."

"Ah." My head throbs with each step as we make our way up a flight of steps. "Umm... I don't mean to be rude but how long was I in there?" I ask.

"Nearly a month."

And it took him _that_ long to figure out a conclusion. Knowing him, he probably made me simmer in my own misery for a good two weeks extra. But I know better than to voice my thoughts.

"You saw Gollum in a dream, did you not?"

I nod weakly. "Yeah, he hissed and reached out towards me."

We turn the corner and walk up a flight of stairs. My feet stumble tryig to keep up, and my head pounds with each step. "How much do you know of the Ring of Power?"

I freeze in panic, my feet locking and sending me tumbling to the ground. I squeak in dismay as my hands scrape against the ground trying to hold me up, turning my neck awkwardly to peer owlishly back up at Sauron. "Uhh, well, I know some but-" I stop. I'm remembering that this is in fact a movie in my world, and I know what will happen eventually. "Wait. You don't think that _I_ have anything to do with it? 'Cause I don't. I dunno where it is or anything like that, I-"

I'm cut off by a sharp warning glare from Sauron's glowing amber eyes. He stands over me, his arms behind his back, a look of mild irritation on his flawless features as he stares at me unblinkingly until I stand up.

"No, I don't think you're connected to it by choice- but connected to it nevertheless, I believe."

By now we're standing outside te door to my old bedroom. Sauron speaks without looking at me. "Clean yourself up. Come to my chambers when you're done." He turns and walks off.

The room's exactly how I left it; the bedcovers still rumpled and the top blanket tossed on the floor. My mom used to hate it when I did that; when I was little, I'd kick it off, then want it back on, so I'd call for her to put it back on, then kick it off again- the cycle would repeat all night. I lean against the doorway. She must be worried sick- my whole family pronably thinks I'm dead. I wonder if I'll ever see them again.

I strip and practically leap into the hot bathwater; I can see the dirt and oil floating away from my body, an oily halo arpond my nasty hair. I scrub hard at my hair, feeling some of its weight leave and I end up with a bunch of fallen-out hairs tangled in my fingers. I refrain from gagging and flick them onto the floor.

I pull a deep red gown out of the wardrobe, slipoing it on and appreciating how nice it feels to have clean clothes. I adjust the snug waistline a bit, running my hands along my abdomen. It's still sunken; a lot thinner than I want it to be. Unhealthily thin.

I sweep down the hall, being careful to watch my dress hem as I sit down on the edge of Sauron's well-furnished bed. He glances at me briefly before returning his attenton to his desk, where he's busily writing out something. I cant see what.

"When I said you were connected to the Ring, do you know what I mean?"

"No." I shake my head dumbly.

"I think that maybe you are connected to or carrying the Ring's, as it were, _soul,_ which is most likely why your skin glowed when I touvhed it. Hence, you are capable of finding it." He looks levelly at me.

"So... you're not going to stick me back in that cell...?"

"For now, no. Later I cannot say."

I feel a pang of fear shoot down my spine as I hop off the bed and scurry out the door with my head low.

 **So, here it is. A bit impromptu, I kind of forgot what day it was so I smashed the ending together and published. Byeee!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Alrighty, Jels has returned. Look at my new cover image isn't it amazing**

 **So, first of all I got some great reviews and I feel really pumped so...**

 **CodenameAgentC- Thank you so much ily. I'm so glad you like this story and I hope the wait wasn't too long :) (I did actually get your second review it just took a while I think.)**

 **Dorky- I love you. I'm sorry if that's weird but I do :D You review all of my chapters and I appreciate it so much (!)**

 **Guest- Thanks, I really like that idea! I'll try to incorporate it in further chapters and in the rewrite! :)**

 **Also when I saw how many follow/favs I have I just got so fckn happy and squealed into my pillow really loud so I'm definitely cheered up guys**

 **So anyways I own none of this but Ana. ONWARDS!**

I wake to a simmering headache. Sick pain bubbles underneath my temples, pressing against the inside of my skull as I rotate my head slowly. I feel horrid.

Then, when I roll my shoulders back- that's when I feel it.

A hot stripe of pain shoots up the side of my neck, blossoming over my shoulder when my probing fingers investigate. I'm met with hot, raised flesh that burns with each contact and movement.

Sauron is hard to locate; I caught a glimpse of him pacing quickly down the hall flanked by an escort of orcs. Slipping my feet into my slim leather shoes, I slide myself off of my lumpy mattress and shuffle off down the hall.

When I peer around into the main passage, it's fuller than usual. Orcs are ferrying piles of weapons and armor up and down the halls, troops running in synchronization out through the main hall. My heart sinks; this must be preparation for the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. That means the Ring is going to be destroyed soon, and the tower's going to collapse. And we're all going to die.

I dodge the Orcs and troops as I scurry up towards the main throne room, where Sauron has his hands around a large black sphere. I realize with a jolt that it's a Palantir, and he's talking to Saruman. Up above, the Great Eye pulses and thrums, pivoting in its socket as it scours the countryside. It's hot enough to heat the whole room almost unbearably.

"Lord Sauron!" I raise my voice above the deep thrumming of the Eye. "What's happening?"

His concentration breaks and he looks at me. Stark irritation stands out on his fair face for a split second before he, too, raises his voice to reply. "Important things!"

"If we're gonna live, I need to know at least a bit," I mutter under my breath. "Is it Gondor?"

He nods in affirmation, returning his attention to the Palantir. "Go back to your quarters, Ana. Stay out of the way."

"No! I might be able to help!" I almost yell.

Sauron yanks his hands off if the inky sphere and glares at me like a parent whose child is disobeying. His eyes flare orange and he takes a step towards me.

I panic, remembering the dungeon fiasco, and turn on my heels to sprint back down the hall. I swear I can hear a small snort of amusement behind me as I flee.

I flop onto my bed, yanking my small journal out of my shoe in desperation as I flip to an empty page.

" _Day 172 of Middle-earth Adventure. Sauron is once again being an arrogant ass and dismissing me without realizing my potential."_

I slam the journal shut, my now-cooled mind rethinking what I wrote. It's kind of narcissistic, now that I think about it. I mean, sure, I know what's going to happen next, and maybe I can prevent it. But, then again, if I show up here and try to stop the Ring being destroyed, maybe I'm the one who causes the destruction. Y'know, Bootstrap Paradox and all that.

I lean out of my window and peer through the hazy Mordor sky to the tiny white city on the edge of visibility. I can see a long dark stream heading out from the Black Gate, twisting around boulders and craters and trees on its quest for destruction.

Faint crashes of thunder shake the ground, and a long dark shape swoops down from above me. Its long batlike wings block out the sunlight and send a chill shooting up my spine; the Fell Beasts are way more terrifying than in the movie. They reek of death and chill.

Three more shapes soar downwards from the heavens and join the leader in battle; the Witch-King of Angmar's headdress shines in the dim sunlight.

Suddenly, a rumbling stronger than the thunder shakes the ground, and I have to cling to the windowsill for support. Before my very eyes, a thick beam of blue-green light cannons into the sky, the wind rushing off of it filling my chambers and blowing papers around on the floor. I look up from my seat on the ground at it, wide-eyed. An utmost sense of dread sinks its icy fangs into my heart and won't let go.

 **So this one's a little shorter, sorry guys. Writers block smacked me in the face, but I wanted to continue so bad that I just kind of cranked out this one for your enjoyment. Anyways more following. Review, please! It means the world to me! (BTW, cover image isn't mine; I found it on Pinterest and couldn't tag an artist. Not mine.)**


	11. Chapter 11

**So hey again guys, so sorry I hit writer's block and absolutely nothing would flow for me. So anyways I'm back now, and I own nothing but Ana.**

 **First of all, I went and read through the reviews. THERE ARE 46 OF THEM I AM ABSOLUTELY FLOORED I THOUGHT THIS WOULD GET LIKE 3**

 **All of you lovely people who reviewed and sent in suggestions, just know that I'll be including a lot more stuff in the final copy. Also, you managed to bring me out of a depression slump, and for that you have my thanks. Anyways...**

The days fly by now, and I can sense a rising dread in the smoggy air. Battalions practice on the plains behind the Great Tower, hordes of black figures sparring and dancing as one. My anxiety levels skyrocket along with the weapons forging rate.

I hardly see Sauron; it seems than theimpending strain has kept him holed up in the command room, surveying with the Eye and laying out attack strategies. From what I've glimpsed before being unceremoniously shushed out of the room, it seems he wants to pour all of his forces in a violent offensive strike against Gondor. I remember this from the movies; it's Pelennor Fields.

My mind flashes back to the scenes from the movies. I distinctly remember the Witch-King being cut down my Eowyn, and that scene where the heads get launched out of the catapult. I always did cringe at that part. But despite that, I can't seem to remember too much else.

It's the next day that Sauron personally shoves me into my chambers and locks the door behind me. Something about me needing to be protected or some crap. I bang on the door in a futile effort to get somebody to let me out.

I fume silently, thinking on what's probably happening right now. Those two hobbits will be trudging their way up the side of the mountain pretty soon, to toss in the Ring. It's the only way to save Middle-Earth, I know, but if they do so I'll probably die in the collapse of the Tower. I think of my body being crushed mercilessly under the heavy stones, and I shudder.

If I want to live, I have to tell Sauron about what's happening.I need to let him know, that way the Tower will still stand and I'll be fine. But then, if I do so, Middle-Earth will be tyrannized. A sob chokes its way up my throat. I know what I have to do, but I'm scared. I'm glad the door's locked right now, otherwise I might run down there and tell him despite myself.

I sniff pathetically, balling my fingers against meyes. I curl up on my bed, feeling a tear run down my neck like a spider. Everything aches, and I'm scared.

I cling to the walls as I venture away from my room, finally freed of house arrest. My main objective is to find some type of food that isn't made from a questionable type of rodent, or a spider or some other dreadful type of animal. I'd managed to swipe a flagon of deep red liquid from the kitchens after dodging odious clouds of orcs and goblins. I'd narrowly avoideda fight after shoulder-bumping a large Uruk. (I'm still going to have nightmares about that.)

Now, I sip it calmly as Sauron stands in front of me in all his intimidating glory. He broke up the fight that nearly killed me (or would've, at least). I plug the cork back into the mouth of the bottle, pounding it in further with the heel of my hand and wiping my mouth.

"What?" The wine warms the inside of my stomach.

"I _thought_ I told you to stay inside your chambers. You're already getting in the way, see?" He gestures toward where the incensed Uruk is stumping down the hall.

"But I thought maybe I could help. Like, um, how do you know they're going to attack? The Gondorians, I mean. What if-" I catch myself just in time- the fate of Middle-Earth deprends on Frodo and Sam sneaking in unawares.

Sauron sighs again. "Ana, go back toyour chambers and stay there until this mess is sorted out."

I sniff and sulk all the way back to my room. I _know_ what's happening! Just because I'm young and female doesn't mean I don't have a thought process!

I kick the mattress before flopping face-first onto the bed, breathing in the smoky scent of the bedcovers. I hate everything and feel like strangling somebody, but for now I just cry indignantly.

 **K guys this is SO SHORT and I'm sorry, but I've hit a rut. I managed to get this out yay**

 **Ana and I totally share the fact that we cry when we're indignant or angry. It makes arguments so friggen hard when there's tears running down your face LOL**

 **Also I think there's something up with my spacebar, so sorry if any of the words stick together** **Review and send in suggestions about how I can make this better!**


	12. Chapter 12

**So, finally, after illness, depression, and school, I. Have. Returned. I'm glad to be back, and I luv all of u who read this :) It's kinda short, and so far the story's a bit disjointed, but this is what I got.**

The days grow shorter, and the skies darker. The tension is palpable, and I know it's only a matter of time before the dam breaks and we're all swept away in the deluge.

The only problem is, I don't know what I'm going to do about it.

I know what the right thing is. I should keep my mouth shut, and act like I don't have a clue what's coming (secret: I can't act to save my life). I know that if I do that, if I _manage_ to do that, Sauron will fall, and Middle-Earth will be freed. But I'll also probably die horribly. And as much as I hate to admit it, I'm pretty selfish. I don't want to die.

The door is still locked. I've been in here for three days, pacing, braiding my hair (it's getting out of hand- it's almost a foot longer than when I showed up) and trying to catch sight of a star through the smog of Mordor. Food shows up occasionally, brought by a rather uncomfortable-looking orc.

My family must be frantic. True, they were often a bit more in support of my older, more successful siblings, but they still cared about me. I imagine I've been gone for about six months- maybe less. My mother will be furious with me if I ever get home.

Yeah. If.

I'm sprawled on my back, waving my legs in the air and singing the DragonTales theme song when I'm hit by an epiphany. I'd considered escaping for a while when I first showed up, but now, with orcs pouring out the Black Gates towards Gondor, I might actually have half a chance. If I do that, Sauron will fall, but I'll also be alive. Y'know. Probably.

I haul myself off the floor and try to pull the heavy black gown out from underneath my feet, snatching my beat-up purse off of one of the bedposts. Dumping its contents out, I dig through them. A now-cracked smartphone, a tube of chapstick, and one lonely little tampon stare back at me. (The thought of having to go without a tampon isn't new here- asking for period supplies was one of the funniest, most mortifying experiences that I will forever look back on and laugh through my cringing.)

How am I going to go about this?

I know that in about four hours, an orc will show up with some type of food. In the closet, there is another gown, some leather leggings, and the dirty, torn sweatshirt I showed up in. I slip into the leggings and sweatshirt, making a mental list of things I will need.

Some type of food. I don't know how far I'll go. Water, too. Some type of weapon, probably a blade, to defend myself with. Last but not least, a good pair of shoes.

The shoes are probably the hardest part. I find a pair of soft leather slippers, not nearly durable enough for the outside wasteland. Tearing a good many pages out of the sketchbook Sauron so nicely let me keep, I fold them up and put them inside my shoes. I trim the odd edges with a letter-opener I found inside one of the drawers. (My first thought was to use it as a weapon, but then I realized the blade is less than two inches long.) I have to keep myself from crying as I tear a few strips off of the bottom of the velvety black robe, wrapping them around my feet, over my shoes, and a bit up my legs for support. It reminds me of the time I sprained my ankle during a soccer match, and had to wrap it with a super itchy Ace bandage.

On that train of thought, I tear off another, skinnier strip and use it to secure a tight french-braid in my hair, wrapping it up into a bun.

A knock on the door shatters my determined state of mind and drops my heart into my stomach. _It's too soon. I'm not done._

Tucking the letter-opener up my sleeve, I pull the door open. The orc with a tray of food stands there, looking extremely disgruntled.

I take it from him and give a horrible imitation of a laugh. He grunts and turns around, trudging down the empty hallway back the way he came. The door's still open.

In a final, spur-of-the-moment decision, I drop the tray of food, grasp the letter-opener, and plunge it into the orc's yellow eye when he turns around at the noise. It makes a squelching noise, not at all what I had expected, and black blood spurts outward. I dig my fingernails into his dirty skin in an attempt to hold his mouth closed, knowing that if he screams, at least a few orc soldiers will show up. After what seems like years, he finally grows still, and I lower him to the ground.

It's curious; first he was alive, and now, by my hands, he's dead. His heart no longer beats, blood doesn't rush through his veins. My hands feel numb and itchy, like they've been coated with dried mud.

I took a life.

True, it was a perversion of life, grown in the mud, but still it moved and breathed. The world starts to go blurry. I'm snapped out of my shock abruptly by the sound of footsteps echoing from down the hall, and only pause to snatch the orc's long, serrated knife before taking off the opposite way in as close to a sprint as my deconditioned bocy can handle.

I slide closer to the wall as an orc trudges by silently, offering him a respectful nod. He continues for a moment, and then spins around.

"Oi! You ain't s'posed t'be out here!"

My eyes widen, and I put more force behind my legs. The orc's shout echoes behind me, and he begins to chase after me, surprisingly quick as he shouts for more support.

I'm flat-out sprinting, now, fuelled by adrenaline and self-preservation, ducking through hallways, shoving orcs out of my path, and descending every staircase I can find. I have to get down. A hand grasps around my arm, and I lash out with the orc-blade, apparently scoring a hit. THere's black blood splattered up the side of my hoodie.

Outside a barred window, the slate ground is about thirty feet down. My legs burn, threatening to collapse. Risking a glance backwards, I can see a rather large proceeding following me. My head snaps back forward- but there's no hallway, only dark.

Then stars and pain bloom like fireworks in my head, and I vaguely register the feeling of falling before everything goes black.

 **Yeah, I know, I ended with Ana getting knocked out again. Sue me, this is where my imagination stopped.**

 **So, I'm not super duper happy with the way this story is flowing. When I first started out on it, Ana was a basic, cardboard, fill-in character that I used to see how the plot would work, so you might notice some characterization inconsistencies or whatever. Also, some elements of this are not Pleasing to me, so for the next draft, some things might be kinda changed to help the story seem more realistic. Right now, with my commitment issues and everything, I'm just struggling to get to the end, no matter how shitty the writing is. So, anyways, drop a line, let me know if you liked it and what I could do better!**

 **-thanks my dudes**


	13. Chapter 13

**hey hey hey, everybody. I'm not actually dead. Sorry this took me so long, but I've been continuously frustrated by my own portrayal of Sauron bc I can't quite Get It. But I am determined to finish this fic, and then maybe I'll rewrite it. I am just kind of Fed Up With Everything right now so this is the best you're gonna get**

The first thing I'm aware of is the pain. It bursts like fireworks behind my eyelids, which I suppose I should probably open, but it's dark and cool here. Nevertheless, I pry them open.

Wrought-iron bars stare me in the face. I lift my head, combing my fingers through blood-encrusted hair that has long since curled out of its braid.

 _Great._

Hauling my sore body off of the stone floor, I lean against the rough-hewn wall. Through the tiny vent near the ceiling, echoing clashes and booms drift down.

When Gondor starts the attack against the Black Gate, it's only a matter of time before the collapse of Barad-dur. And I'm stuck in a dungeon. I crawl over to the bars set across the doorway, slumping down with a sigh. What do I do now?

Wiping the blood off of my brow, I take a deep breath and thoroughly examine my surroundings. The bars are held in place via deep holes drilled into the stone floor and ceiling. Outside, a single torch sputters and throws light across the room, casting strange shadows through the bars.

I sigh again, kneeling down to look closer at the floor. The bars are relatively well-made, for the most part, but twisted smaller to fit into their slots. I select the one nearest to the wall, thinner than the others near the bottom.

I take a deep breath. The air is warm and smelly in my lungs, and the crackling of the torch is the only sound. They must have shut me up in an unused stretch of cells or something.

The ball of my foot slams into the bar, at the thinnest point near the base. I press my fist into my mouth to stifle a shriek of pain and take a step back.

Absolutely no difference.

 _Shit._

I take another deep breath of the dank air, falling back to look over the structure again.

 _Clang. Clang. Clang._ My forearm slams into the wrought bars, again, and again, and again. Choking back a frustrated scream, I slouch down against the wall, shoulders shaking from repressed sobs. A tear drips down my jawline.

 _Please, God, those glowy guys from when I first showed up, anybody._ I drag my hand underneath my nose. _Please help me._

I groan into my knees, grabbing hold of the metal bar I'd been beating at. My head lolls to one side, against the metal, and I let out a shrill noise, closing my eyes.

I lift my head with a halfhearted snort, screwing my eyes up. Sometime in the middle of my crying I must have fallen asleep. I rub the weird imprints left on the side of my face.

Grabbing onto the metal bar, I haul myself onto my feet- only to stop when my breath suddenly catches in my throat. All along my arm, twining down my hand and up across my shoulder- there's Elvish runes, glowing gold.

The last time that happened, it came from Sauron touching my arm. I reach out and brush my fingers along the marks, furrowing my eyebrows. I reach out to steady myself against the metal bar.

I jerk back with a squeak when the bar bends like putty under my palm, leaving a hand-sized curve. The glow of the elvish writing flares when my hand comes back in contact with the metal, bending it carefully away from the wall, until there's enough space to wriggle through.

Heat under my palm draws my attention back to the metal, now noticeably hot enough to burn my hand. I yank my arm away from it; the metal glows faintly with heat.

No time for that now. I can hear fighting sounds intensify from the vents in the cells, meaning Gondor is attacking. I plant my feet against the ground and run toward the nearest staircase.

Heart pounding, fist aching from the several orcs I've punched in the face in my hurry, I dash up every flight of stairs I can find. My thighs feel like jelly, the only thing keeping me going the adrenaline pumping through my veins. Barreling down side passages, avoiding the loudest halls, I finally manage to stagger my way up to the head war office.

Pressing the door open with my shoulder, I stumble inside, catching a glimpse of familiar flaming orange hair.

"Sauron!" There's no time for formalities. "Er, I mean, my Lord, I know where the Ring is."

His hands still on the palantir, Sauron turns slowly toward me. His eyes flare angrily, his gaze pinning me to the floor. "What on Arda could _possibly_ warrant you breaking out of your cell and running all the way up here?"

 _Was that sarcasm?_ I shake off the thought, bracing myself. "The Ring's almost to the Cracks of Doom. I can feel it."

He strides over, grabbing my chin and forcing my head up. "What else?"

"That's all I know," I choke out.

Sauron sighs heavily, dropping me and turning to the nearest orc. He orders something in Black Speech, and the orc practically runs out the door.

My heart hammers in my chest. Sauron spins, his hands on the orb. Outside, I can see the beam of the Eye rotate toward Mount Doom. _Oh no._

A loud bang from the opposite direction startles me into hiccups. The Eye pivots, narrowing in on the company now gathered outside the Black Gate. I rush to the window, mopping the tears off of my face. Something like acid burns in my stomach.

"I... Um..." I turn and stagger out the door, my eyesight uncomfortably sharp with adrenaline. My breaths echo in my ears. I rest my hand against the wall in an effort to catch my breath, squeezing my eyes shut.

Everything seems to happen in slow motion. Shouts of battle drift in through the windows, small and faint like they're from a radio. My feet catch on the floor and I collapse onto my knees. A loud ringing echoes in my ears.

A distant groan like some angry giant sounds from the Mountain, its billowing smoke growing thicker. Slag and debris vomits out across the wasteland, a rumble making its way through the earth. I wince at the grinding noise.

The fire from the mountain streams hot now, bursts of it splattering across the dead land. I hear the shriek of a Nazgul as it's taken down by rock. In the very bones of the tower, a crunch ricochets up the structure. I almost throw up as the floor lurches under my feet.

Staggering back into the war room, I'm met with Sauron grabbing my shoulders and throwing me against the wall. "You knew this would happen." It's not a question.

It would take more strength than I have left to stop the tears from streaming down my face and neck. "I..."

The floor jerks out from under us, and I reach out blindly as I feel myself falling. My stomach jumps into my throat as Barad-Dur splits in half, stones echoing as they slam into the ground. My hand connects with Sauron's for half a second, before something slams into my head with a grating crunch. I can register the blood sliding down my face and into my mouth for a moment, then everything bleeds into white.

 _ **oooooohhh**_

 **anyways, I'm not sorry. leave a review !**


	14. Chapter 14

**hi guys**

 **i'm so sorry i've been gone for over half a year**

 **i'm the actual worst**

The first thing I'm aware of is a dull, throbbing pain.

The next is indignance. _I swear, if I get knocked out one more time..._

The cold is what prompts me to open my eyes. Three inches away from my face is the ugly shag carpeting I've lived on for a year. I shove myself up onto my elbows.

I'm back at home. It's early morning, and I can see my breath. Glancing over to my right, I can see Sauron lying on the floor next to me, unconscious.

I blink and shake my head.

Ten minutes later and I'm sitting at my own kitchen counter; Sauron, the Lord of the Rings, is sprawled unconscious on my sofa. My head hits the countertop with a dull thud.

 _Time to pull yourself together, Ana._

First things first, there's a faint dusting of snow outside, so it must be winter- and I've clearly been gone long enough for the city to cut my heating due to neglecting bills. From the looks of things, the electricity is gone, too.

"Ugh, fuck." The water still works, which is something- I sip from a glass as I survey the damage, compiling a list.

First things first- electricity, heating, get the bills paid, clean out the fridge, and...

Contact my family. I curse again, slapping down my cup. My mother's going to kill me when she realizes I've been gone for ass-knows-how-long. I dig my old phone out from the back of a drawer, wiping crumbs off of the screen and clicking it on.

The Nokia logo lights up the screen, the number buttons glowing softly. I sigh in faint relief at the 10% power notification, feeling an actual smile pull at my lips. I scroll through to my voice messages.

 _154 missed calls from: Mama, Dad, Chelzz, Jacob, and 4 others_

I choke on my water. My mother's gonna strangle me- at least, after she stops crying. A swell of guilt presses into my gut, and I toss my phone onto the counter before wading over to the pile of mail scattered about the mail slot in the front door.

I finish filling out the electrical bill, placing it onto the stack along with the cable and mortgage bills. The wood in my fireplace is dry and I have matches, so soon there's at least some warmth in the house. I lean back onto my hands and look over at the couch and its unfortunate occupant.

Sauron is half curled-up, trails of blood coming from a gash just above his eyebrow. His skin is grey, and doesn't emanate heat when I place the back of my hand half an inch from his forehead. I'm pretty sure he's some kind of angel spirit, so why he's bleeding and appearing to be at death's door is beyond me. Maybe something's actually wrong with him.

I fold up my legs and rest my chin on my palms. The Ring was destroyed shortly before we wound up here, and destroying the Ring was supposed to destroy Sauron. Scrambling off of the warm ground, I pull a fleece blanket with Wonder Woman on it out of the hall closet, swaddling myself in it as I race upstairs. It's on my bookshelf- my sister's worn copy of _Lord of the Rings,_ and beside it a nearly-new paperback of _The Silmarillion._

I flip open _Lord of the Rings,_ finding the part with the Council of Elrond. So, Sauron forged the rings... and put a large amount of his essence into it, in order to render it extremely powerful. And since the Ring was destroyed... a large part of him was destroyed as well.

When I make it back down the stairs, Sauron is in the exact same position as before. His chest barely rises and falls as he breathes, and his face looks even more colorless. Panic seizes me against my better judgement, since he's a terrifying and dangerous mass-murderer, but he's also curled up on my couch half-dead. I take a deep breath and go to get the first-aid kit I keep in the kitchen.

The first thing I do is try to clean the blood off of his face. It doesn't look like regular human blood; its color is darker and deeper, and it glimmers in the firelight like it's flecked with gold. I dab at the cut on his forehead with a wet paper towel. The bleeding is nearly stopped, but I put pressure on it anyways for good measure.

I look down at him, then at myself. We're both coated in dirty stone dust, a small amount of blood spattered over his clothing- and mine, as well. I sigh. I've probably gotten my Wonder Woman blanket all dirty, and I can't do laundry without water. I brush his hair away from his forehead to better examine his cut, and, without thinking, press my fingers on the side of his cheekbone to see if he's still cold.

Immediately, pain sears through my entire body. A choked gasp works its way out of my throat, and I curl up onto the floor in agony.

Just like that, the pain's gone completely. I raise my head, blinking dumbly. Sauron lets out a quiet groan, and shifts his head.

My eyes widen and I launch myself away from the couch. I see him scrunch up his face, hissing when his hand makes contact with the gash on his forehead.

"Hey. Don't touch that." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Sauron turns to look at me, and instead of looking his usual combination of pissed and exasperated, he looks pissed and confused.

"Your cut- the one on your head. Don't touch it." I bite down on both lips to prevent myself from blurting out anything more.

"My- I know." He blinks slowly, once. "Where are we?"

"My house. I told you, I cone from... somewhere else."

"Why are we alive? We should be dead."

I throw the bloody rag at the coffee table. "Well, I'm sorry you're not dead, Mr. Dark Lord. Would you like me to do something about that?" It comes out quite a bit louder than I'd intended, and he winces minutely. "Besides, you're in _my_ house. Getting blood on _my_ sofa."

Sauron lets out a sigh at that, and I sigh right along with him. "I can't believe this is happening to me."

"Surviving a fatal structural collapse?"

"No, _you._ Sitting here. On _my_ couch. You're the actual worst."

There's a barely-noticeable smirk on his face, but I choose to ignore it as I sit back down in front of the fireplace. My mind's whirling, responsibilities to take care of, family to contact, consequences to avoid.

Ugh, I'm so _screwed_.

 **heyy so tell me what ya think**

 **i'll really try not to be so long next time**

 **i love all of you! like in a not-creepy way**


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